An Earl To Save Her Reputation. Laura Martin
he whisked her around the ballroom and see some of her legendary composure slip as they stood side by side on the terrace. To top it all, he’d furthered his little investigation into the horrible packages Anna was receiving by inviting his main suspect to a country house party.
Next to him Anna walked with her head held high, but her fingers were digging into his arm through his jacket. He hadn’t warned her of his plan, there hadn’t been the opportunity, but he was sure once she’d recovered from the shock she would see it was the sensible thing to do: gather all the possible culprits in one place and wait for them to strike.
They’d just reached the end of the terrace when he felt Anna’s grip on his arm tighten even more. Before he knew what was happening she’d whisked him around the corner and down a short set of stone steps to the shadowy lawn below. In ten quick paces she’d pressed him into an alcove, hidden from view from the terrace above.
‘Lady Fortescue,’ he murmured, ‘I thought we were going to try our best to behave this evening.’
She was standing close to him, so close he could smell the lavender scent of her hair and before he could stop himself he reached out and tucked a stray, coppery strand behind her ear.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ Anna asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, but managing to convey the depth of her fury all the same.
‘A strand of hair...’
‘Up on the terrace, with Miss Fortescue.’
‘Being polite.’
‘To a woman who might be sending me—’ She broke off, her voice faltering at the memory of what was in the last package.
‘We’re never going to get to the bottom of what’s happening if we avoid the people who might be responsible. We need to observe them, confront them, push them into making a mistake.’
‘By inviting them to stay under the same roof as us?’
‘I’ll be there to look out for you.’
Anna closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I barely know you,’ she said quietly.
‘That’s not true.’ Although they had only met for the first time a little over a week ago Harry felt as though they’d known each other for much longer.
‘You do not get to make decisions about my life,’ Anna said, her voice low but firm. ‘No one gets to make decisions about my life.’
There was such conviction as she spoke, such determination, that Harry wondered what had happened to drive her to this point. She didn’t trust anyone and clung to her independence more than any woman he had ever encountered. It should be annoying, but Harry found himself admiring her more for her strength.
‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said, knowing when to take a step back and regroup. ‘I should have discussed my idea about the house party with you first.’
The apology seemed to disarm her and Harry watched as some of the fury seeped from her body. Without thinking he raised a hand and smoothed the furrow between her eyebrows. She stiffened at his touch, but did not jerk away, instead slowly raising her eyes to meet his own.
For an instant Harry wanted nothing more in the world than to kiss her. He wanted to cover her lips with his own, gather her to his body and kiss her until she forgot whatever it was that was making her frown.
‘Perhaps we should discuss it tomorrow,’ Anna said, taking a step back.
‘Good idea.’
Anna looked around her as if only just realising where they were. A sardonic smile crossed her lips.
‘Thankfully the world thinks we are engaged,’ she said, ‘or this would be an even bigger scandal than us being discovered together at the Prendersons’ ball.’
All the same she peered out into the darkness carefully, judging her moment to return to the ballroom. Just as she was about to dash out from the alcove Harry caught her hand.
‘Dance with me,’ he said.
‘Here? Don’t be silly.’
‘No one can see us.’
‘People will be wondering where we are.’
‘Let them wonder.’
‘This whole engagement is to try to minimise the scandal attached to our names, not increase it.’
‘Dance with me.’
He saw her hesitate, torn between returning to the safety of the ballroom and sharing another wonderful waltz. The music from the ballroom was audible down here, muffled by the chatter of people on the terrace, but still good enough to dance to.
For an instant he thought she would and he felt his heart leap in his chest, then she was gone, her dress swishing behind her, her head bent low as she fled back to the safety of the ballroom.
Distractedly Anna handed her bonnet to Grace, her maid, and patted her hair with both hands to tame any stray strands. She’d been unable to sleep after the ball and early that morning she’d headed to the shipping company offices to try to catch up on paperwork. It had been a gruelling day, with the Lady Magdalene still missing and the clients who had their goods aboard the ship getting restless.
‘Lady Fortescue would like some tea,’ Mr Maltravers said, ushering Grace away with a shake of his hand.
‘Grace,’ Anna said sharply, ‘I have a headache. I think I will lie down.’
Her effusive business rival had insisted on escorting her home after turning up uninvited at the shipping company office earlier in the afternoon. Anna had argued, strongly enough that anyone else would consider her rude, but Mr Maltravers had been unaffected by her protests and escorted her home anyway.
‘A cup of tea will cure that,’ Mr Maltravers said, taking her by the arm and leading her into the drawing room.
As always Anna stiffened at his touch, visibly shuddering at the feel of his clammy palm on her arm.
‘Thank you very much for your escort, Mr Maltravers,’ Anna said firmly, ‘but I am weary and feel unwell. You will have to forgive me for being a terrible host and not offering you any refreshment before you leave.’ Despite her conciliatory words Anna kept her tone and manner as cold as possible. Mr Maltravers was irking her, making her feel uncomfortable in the one place she normally felt safe.
‘I could wait.’
‘No.’ She wasn’t above begging him to go, but instead placed a hand on his arm and guided him back to the front door, even opening it herself.
‘I shall call on you tomorrow to check you have recovered. I worry about you, Lady Fortescue.’
‘Please do not trouble yourself.’
She hadn’t once encouraged him, hadn’t ever been anything more than polite and most of the time had been downright frosty towards him, but still Mr Maltravers insisted on popping up in every aspect of her life.
Anna shut the door while he was still on the top step, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wood.
‘Shall I bring you a cold compress for your head, my lady?’ Grace asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
‘It is a miracle I do not truly have a headache after spending close to an hour in Mr Maltravers’s carriage with him puffing away on that disgusting pipe.’
‘Lady Fortescue, you have a guest,’ Williams, the elderly butler, announced. He grimaced. ‘He is in the garden.’
Uncle Phillip’s town house was large and well proportioned, but like many houses in the city it didn’t have much of a garden. A small patio with a stretch of